


Nobody Cares About You in a Seedy Dance Club

by puff22_2001



Series: The Ongoing Saga of Two Dorks in Love [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Clubbing, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Series, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puff22_2001/pseuds/puff22_2001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann begins to suspect that Newt has an ulterior motive for dragging him to "Da Wurld."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Cares About You in a Seedy Dance Club

**Author's Note:**

> Basic Timeline:  
> January 19, 2013: Hermann and Newt start talking on OKCupid. Newt turns 23.  
> June 9, 2013: Hermann turns 24.  
> August 13, 2013: Trespasser attacks.  
> January 19, 2014: Newt gets his first kaiju tattoo of Tresspasser. Newt turns 24.  
> February 5, 2014: Hundun attacks.  
> June 1, 2014: Kaiceph attacks.  
> June 9, 2014: Newt gets his second and third kaiju tattoos of Hundun and Kaiceph. Hermann turns 25.  
> September 2, 2014: Scissure attacks.  
> December 16, 2014: Newt gets his fourth kaiju tattoo of Scissure.  
> January 1, 2015: The PPDC establishes the Jaeger Academy. Hermann and Newt join the Jaeger Academy (Newt joining a year earlier than in canon).  
> January 19, 2015: Hermann and Newt meet in person for the first time. Newt turns 25.  
> July 19, 2015: Hermann and Newt have been officially dating for six months.

Kodiak Island, Alaska: July 19, 2015

\--

This was certainly not “The Blur.” Instead of the nice, fairly quiet club they usually frequented (that played charmingly retro tracks from their childhood), Newt had dragged them both off to some new place in a disgusting part of Kodiak Island's small entertainment district. Newt had insisted that they try something new for their six-month dating anniversary, and Hermann caved (as usual) after at least a satisfying argument.

But this was too much by far. “Da Wurld,” besides an atrocious name, was not at all nice like “The Blur.” Instead of cozy booths, the only seats were either too tall and spindly for Hermann to sit at comfortably with his leg, or covered in cracked leather so old that it looked as if mice could make nests in the stuffing. The music was eclectic, if Hermann was kind, but confused and seemed to be from eight million places all at once. Hermann smirked at the weak attempt at a theme, but scowled when Newt pulled him further into the dark club.

“This is going to be so awesome!” Newt was wearing his usual clubbing gear: tight tee, tight pants, and hair so gelled it could cut you—Herman had the slices on his own face for confirmation. Hermann had drawn the line at getting any more rigged up than some band tee of Newt’s that “Da Wurld” played often and his fanciest cane. He might very well go to the ends of the Earth for Newt, but dressing as a common punk was out of the question.

“I dare disagree.” Hermann said lowly and Newt, blissfully engrossed in finding a seat, ignored his boyfriend. When he spotted a dusty booth, the tattooed biologist led the way and gently pushed Hermann down, narrowly avoiding the spilled alcohol of indeterminate origin on the seat. Hermann chuffed as Newt frantically pulled at a surly server to order drinks before sitting down himself across from Hermann.

“OK, as soon as we’ve got our drinks, we’re on the dance floor.” Newt had to practically shout over the obscenely loud music, but Hermann was rather inured to it. Spending any amount of time with Newt taught one to ignore constant sound. Hermann did prefer Newt’s voice to the incessant bass in the club, however.

“I don’t suppose you’ve thought of how I’ll dance.” At their usual spots, Hermann always had room to awkwardly shuffle with Newt, and he’d grown bolder as Newt assured him how attractive he was each time they took to the floor. But “Da Wurld”’s floor was not only slippery—and was that vomit?—but so many people bumped about that Hermann feared for his hygiene as well as his balance. Newt grinned that teasingly luscious smile and hooked his fingers with Hermann’s on the table.

“Leave that to me. Just stick close and you’ll be fine.”

After what seemed an awfully long time, their surly server returned with blindingly bright mixed drinks. Hermann knew not to let Newt order for him as a general rule, but tonight was all about concessions, after all. Downing his own electric blue drink, Newt grabbed Hermann’s hand and pulled him up before the other man had a chance to taste the glowing orange-red drink in front of him.

“It’s all for the better, really.” Hermann thought caustically as Newt pulled him along, pushing people out of the way until they were right in front of the d.j. A blasting South African rap song—“Dude, I love this guy!”—began just as they positioned themselves together. Hermann glared at Newt and waited for his dear boyfriend to explain his plan. Newt’s response was to smirk, grab Hermann’s hips, and start slowly swaying completely out of rhythm with the song.

“We’re not at all with the crowd, you doofus!” Hermann shouted (using Newt’s favorite not-really insult) as Newt continued to turn them so that Hermann’s cane didn’t catch on anyone.

“Who gives a fuck?” Newt yelled back, beaming wider the closer the crown pushed them together.

Hermann felt himself flush. He was an awkward man; public displays of affection were out beyond hand-holding. Newt had been trying unsuccessfully since they’d met to get Hermann to kiss him in front of people. They had roaring fights about Hermann’s “ass stick” and Newt’s “complete lack of understanding” to the point that Hermann scowled if Newt even moved towards him in public. The hurt he saw in Newt’s eyes each time only added to his frustration.

But this was different. The crowd wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to them. “Da Wurld’s” clientele was Academy buffs dying for freedom and coked out college students and tripping teenagers with fake I.D.s. No one had time to stare at the cripple as he danced out of step with his boyfriend.

It was nice to feel Newt pressed up against him, their sweat mingling and the short man’s breath on his neck. It was similar to after their nightly escapades, exhausted and sated with emotion. Newt would tangle himself with Hermann’s good leg and whisper the silliest—and sweetest—little things in the mathematician’s ear, slurring finally into a contented sleep as Hermann carded his hand through Newt’s hair. It was lovely, and even the noise and people couldn’t stop the warmth in Hermann’s chest.

Hermann couldn’t start snogging Newt in public. He wasn’t ready for that at all. But in the dark of a seedy dance club, pressed together as everyone else was, he could see himself doing more than holding hands.

“You planned this.” Hermann bent down and shout-whispered in Newt’s ear. Newt didn’t reply but turned his head to nip at Hermann’s lips. Hermann stopped dancing and Newt pulled back, doubt in his eyes.

Doubt that was quickly expelled as Hermann fully took Newt’s face in one hand and enveloped Newt’s lips with his own. Newt returned the gesture with his typical abandon. When they both needed air, Newt resumed his gentle grasp on Hermann’s hips and lay his head on Hermann’s shoulder.

The crowd continued to jump and sway, melding them into one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know of any errors or typos! Also feel free to suggest improvements. I've been to very few clubs in my life, so I'm sure that my depiction is woefully inaccurate.


End file.
